


Mine

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Feelings Realization, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 06:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18148337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Vane knows what he saw. Jack and Flint together. Turns out he doesn't have a fucking clue what's going on.





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> (A companion piece to Not Until You Beg & Tell Me.)

 

“You let _him_ fuck you!” Vane barely holds the words back until they’re alone. The moment they are, he shoulders his way past Jack, inside his room.

“What?” Jack stares at him as he closes the door. “Who?”

“You know who the fuck who!” Vane growls. He shouldn’t have to say the fucking name. Jack knows exactly who he means.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t. I tend to remember who’s fucked me and who hasn’t.”

_“Flint.”_

“Flint?” Jack frowns, then his eyes widen, almost comically. “No, that isn’t what happened.”

“I saw you and him, all tucked away in that alcove.” It had been all he could do to keep himself from breaking in on the rendezvous but instead he’d managed to turn away and leave before either of them saw him.

“Ah, well.” Now Jack looks uncomfortable. That’s harder to explain. Vane seizes upon it.

“You were, weren’t you? Admit it!” He has Jack pressed up against the table before he realizes it, shoving his way into Jack’s space. Jack likes closeness, craves intimacy. Usually it’s Vane’s reward to him, half because it’s easy with Jack, standing close, resting his hand on Jack’s shoulder or back, or hip. But now he makes it a little rougher than usual, making Jack grunt slightly as he leans hard into the table side.

“It wasn’t like that.” Jack protests, feebly.

“Tell me what it was like then.” Vane orders. He leaves Jack pressed against the table and goes over to fetch the bottle standing on the bureau. He pours himself a cup, needing something to keep his hands busy before they return to Jack’s body. “I’m waiting.”

Jack sighs, clearing his throat. “Charles.”

“Jack.” Vane mocks, taking a sip. He turns around, leaning against the bureau, watching him. He’d not thought it would matter so much. He’s never given it any thought at all, to be honest. Jack’s with Bonny, everyone knows this. There’s never been any reason to suppose that Jack would look at someone else.

Jack looks so uncomfortable, shifting against the table, pulling at his cravat. At last he sighs, pinching at his bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t Flint.”

“I saw you.” Vane repeats loudly. He’s not an idiot.

“It wasn’t Flint I fucked.” Jack’s voice is dull.

Vane takes a long sip of his rum, letting that run through his head. He tries to rearrange his thoughts, but now it’s empty, trying to fit someone into the space Flint had occupied previously. He comes up blank. If not Flint, who? Would Jack risk that with, if not Flint?

“Who then?”

Jack sighs again. “It was the cook.”

Vane frowns. “Who?”

“The new cook aboard the Walrus. Curly hair, blue eyes, good chest, well-formed ass?” He makes a slight gesture with his hand, as though he’s remembering it all too well.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right.” Vane points at him. “You fucked Flint’s cook?” It gives him a churning feeling in his gut, but it’s nothing like the feeling he had when he thought it was Flint who had fucked Jack. It’s different; it’s the same. He doesn’t know what it is. It’s…he doesn’t like it, whatever it is. He downs the rest of the rum in his cup and pours more.

“Yes.” Jack mutters, his eyes on the ground. His shoulders droop, and there’s an air about him that Vane doesn’t quite recognize.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Vane’s _seen_ Bonny, heard tales of her and that knife. Surely if Jack fucked around on her, and the two of them definitely fuck, Vane’s heard them, she would know it and take matters in hand soon enough.

“Because I wanted to.” Jack says stoutly. But it’s not the only reason. Vane can smell it. There’s something more. Something Jack’s hiding and wants to keep hidden. He takes another gulp of rum, wipes his mouth and crosses the room towards Jack.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else?” Vane growls. “Why’d you really fuck him?”

At that Jack looks affronted, and possibly a little angry, which is intriguing. Jack is capable of anger, Vane knows that, but it’s so rarely aimed at Vane that he’s almost proud when he’s capable of provoking Jack enough to produce that result.

Now he watches Jack as Jack pulls away. “Why on earth do you think there’s an ulterior motive beyond I saw someone, I found them attractive, I fucked them, end of story. I saw, I found, I fucked.” He reaches for Vane’s rum and takes a hearty swallow, his throat bobbing nervously.

“No.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “What the fuck do you want me to say?” He sinks into a chair, tapping his fingertips against the table.

“I’ve seen how Bonny guards you. You wouldn’t risk her wrath for just anyone, which means there was something worthwhile about the fuck or the man, so which is it?”

“Why’s it matter?” Jack asks wearily. “What difference could it possibly make to you?”

It’s a decent enough question. Enough so that Vane is momentarily stumped by it. Long enough that this time Jack finishes the rum in the cup and pours some more.

“A good captain knows what’s going on with his crew.” Vane says at last. “Especially with his quartermaster.”

At that Jack smiles, oddly humorlessly. “A good captain….” He repeats softly. “A good captain would…” He drops off, leaving the rest unspoken, twisting on the hook between them.

“Finish it.” Vane says.

Jack takes another sip, his eyes darting around, not looking at Vane. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I’m not asking again.”

Jack shrugs in acquiescence. He downs the rest of the rum and wipes his mouth. Setting the cup aside he looks straight up at Vane. “A good captain would know when his quartermaster wants to fuck him.”

Vane stares at him. Jack returns his gaze, at first and then eventually he has to look away. His fingers tap against his knees impatiently, awaiting Vane’s response. And then he reaches for the cup again, half rising to fetch more rum.

Vane’s closing the distance between them before he realizes that’s what he’s doing. He stills Jack’s motion, his hands on Jack’s arms, as Jack sinks back down into his seat, staring at him.

Slowly Vane crouches in front of him, “How long?” His hands travel down Jack’s thighs, coming to rest on his knees.

Jack flinches. “What does that matter?” His eyes scurry away from the way Vane’s looking at him, still eyeing the empty cup on the table, still desperate for a distraction, anything to put distance between him and this moment, between him and Vane.

“How long?” Vane repeats. “Have I been blind?”

At that Jack looks at him, his eyes widening in surprise.

Slowly Vane leans in, his hands sliding up Jack’s thighs as Jack instinctively leans in towards him.

“Why the cook?”

At that Jack starts laughing helplessly. “We had a mutual problem.”

It takes Vane a moment and then he laughs too. “That’s what Flint was talking to you about.”

Jack nods, studying his eyes, waiting.

“And how did he take it? The news that you fucked his precious cook?” He thinks about that for a second, then of Flint learning such a thing.

Jack shrugs. “I don’t think he realized Silver was precious until I did.”

Vane half nods to himself. His thumbs are stroking soft circular indents into Jack’s thighs. The response is gratifying. He can sense the tension building in Jack’s thighs, traveling all the way up his body.

“At least I’m not the only one’s who blind around here.” Vane mutters. He settles more comfortably on his knees, palms flexing over Jack’s thighs.

“Mhm, there is that.” Jack nods.

Vane slowly reaches for the fastenings of his breeches and Jack sucks in a tight breath, his eyes focused on Vane’s fingers.

“You’re mine.” Vane murmurs as one by one he undoes the lacings, so he slides his fingers into Jack’s underclothes, slowly, ever so slowly, drawing his cock out. “Don’t forget that again.”

“…I…” Jack catches whatever he was about to say next as Vane lowers his head to take him in his mouth.

Vane enjoys how silent men go when he does that. Like they never even dreamed of him doing this. That’s the way he likes it, taking them apart by surprise.

Jack’s hands fall onto his shoulders, gripping him as though he’d fall right out of the chair, if Vane doesn’t keep him upright. Vane breathes in the scent of him, pressing his nose into the thick dark hair at Jack’s groin. He wonders if Bonny does, claiming Jack for her own as he’s doing now. He wonders if the cook, whatever the fuck his name, even dared.

He takes Jack deep, letting his cock hit the back of his throat and sliding it out again. Jack’s head falls back, his hands still steadying himself upon Vane’s body.

Vane sucks him for another half a dozen motions before he pulls off.

Jack makes a half-murmur of complaint but then he looks at Vane’s face and his eyes widen.

“Up.” Vane says, the hunger in his voice apparent.

Jack is clumsy in his eagerness to obey. He stands there, clutching at his breeches.

“Lie back.” Vane nods at the table. “And spread your legs.”

He finds oil by the bed, leftover from the last time someone was here in his bed. Some whore from the brothel, or Eleanor maybe. He doesn’t let himself think on that too long.

“There’s a perfectly good bed right there.” Jack says.

“Shut up.” Vane says, nudging his thighs apart.

He presses a slicked finger inside Jack, loving the way Jack squirms a mite at his touch.

And god, he has been blind. To not do this sooner. All the times Jack’s been right there, waiting for him, and now he finally learns new intimacies of him, the way he exhales as Vane stretches him, how his hands spread upon the table, the way his chest heaves with yearning. The little fleck of his tongue as he strains, holding his thighs open as Vane steps between them, unfastening his breeches.

“Tell me again.” Vane says, pressing his cock to Jack’s hole, teasing him before he presses the head inside. He’s not small, Jack knows this and watching his face as Vane slides inside him is a unique sight.

 “Tell me why it matters.” Jack murmurs, still gazing downward.

“Fuck you.” Vane tells him. He lifts Jack’s rump, thrusting deeper. Jack knows why. He knows Vane is a jealous man.

Jack laughs, gripping the table, arching against him as they move. He’s panting, his eyes on Vane’s as Vane fucks into him, and there’s the brightness that Vane knows so well, that look Jack’s given him after a good haul, over a game of cards, a good drink. He’d know that look anywhere; he just hadn’t known what it meant before.

Vane lifts him, making Jack cry out as he slips out of him, but Vane shoves him back over to the bed, and turns him over, thrusting back inside, making Jack howl.

“ _Mine_.” He growls and Jack arches back against him. The word matters. The claim matters. He is a jealous man, and Jack Rackham is fucking _his_.

 

 *  *  *

 

“I still don’t understand why it mattered.” Jack yawns as he reaches for the rum. They’re sprawled across the bed, clothes finally discarded.

Vane looks at him. For a clever man, Jack can be remarkably stupid at times. He leans over and kisses him, letting the kiss speak for itself.

 

*  *  *

 

It’s late when he hears the sound on the porch. Vane slips from the bed, leaving Jack deep in his slumber. He glides naked to the door, opening it without making a sound. The porch is dappled in shadows, the barest sliver of moonlight reveals nothing. He waits, and then finally at last, he steps out on the porch, still naked.

She’s waiting leaning against the wall, her arms folded, her eyes mere glints in the dark.

“Well.” He says at last.

“Well.” Bonny says.

She moves to stand in the doorway, taking in the sight. Then she looks back at Vane almost dismissively. “Figured that’s where he was.”

“Why didn’t you have a problem with him and the cook?” Vane’s genuinely curious about that. How had Silver gotten away without his balls getting cut off? Nobody touches Jack Rackham without Anne Bonny’s permission.

Well, nobody but _him_. Vane smirks inwardly at the thought.

“Thought he was finally getting it out of his system.”

“It.” Vane says.

“You.” Bonny says bluntly and he nods.

She takes another look at Jack, still peacefully asleep and then she leans in, close enough that she could slide a knife between his ribs before he could do a thing to stop her. If she were so inclined. Vane holds himself very still.

“You hurt him, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Vane leans in even closer towards her and she doesn’t fucking flinch. If he scares her, and he should scare her, she doesn’t show it. He’s good at scaring people, but she just stares back at him, her eyes narrowed.

“I know that.” Vane says at last, and then, because she’s still waiting for something. “I’ll do my best.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes at that, and to his surprise she sticks out her hand.

“Good.”

“Good.” Vane shakes her hand, and watches her as she disappears into the dark street. 

He stands there a moment, looking out at the darkness. There’s a leftover bottle of wine on the table on the porch from earlier, at some point. And he reaches for it, takes a long drink of sharp, slightly sour wine, letting it settle on his tongue. He takes a second drink and then he goes back inside to Jack.


End file.
